secession of waves. “Have you been briefed on the mission?” Pug asked.
Cameron shook his head. “Limited briefing, I’m afraid. I was already at sea on a short holiday. I was informed by radio of the coordinates for the rendezvous and to expect passengers. I know nothing about the target.”
“Then I’ll fill you in on the important pieces. You know the two men below, right?”
“Yes, sir, Sean Macintosh and Graham Jenkins. Both are squad leaders from my Offshore Assault Team.”
“So I understand,” Pug said. “I’ve worked with other SAS teams before, when I was serving as a Marine Force Recon company commander. First class troops, always ready. We haven’t decided if this is a snatch or an elimination. We’re headed for East Timor. These are the coordinates.” He handed Rossiter a slip of paper. “Two of your other lads are already ashore near the pickup point. They flew commercial to Dili, separately over several days, using full passport and customs control, just like tourists, with false identities, of course, and arriving from separate origins. Let me make my position clear, Cameron. I’m just along for the ride and have no command responsibilities to this team or for the ground squad — you’re in command here. If we determine to snatch the target, then I’ll assume responsibility for him.”
“That’ll be fine, Pug. You probably know the SAS are a rather informal lot, officers and men. I mean, at least at the lower ranks.”
“Understood. Okay, here’s the plan. My other team member, Carlos Castro, will make the actual insertion to the suspect residence. Carlos is deputy director of my office, and a retired Marine Corps Sergeant Major, a very experienced Recon Marine. With everything going well, he’ll make the entry tomorrow night, decide the disposition, and, at his discretion, eliminate the man or deliver the target to us on shore. In that case, he’ll return to your yacht and we’ll transport him to the sub. How long will it take us to get to the northeast coast of Timor?”
“About eighteen to twenty hours, unless we have a wind shift for or against.”
“Just before dusk tomorrow, then. That’s plenty of time to prepare. Let’s get Macintosh up on deck and he can brief you on your shore team.” Pug stepped to the cabin entrance and leaned in. “Carlos, Sergeant Macintosh, could you come on deck a moment?”
Macintosh appeared several seconds later, followed by Jenkins and Carlos. Both Aussies stepped aft and sat on the railing. Carlos stood besides Pug, slightly spreading his legs to maintain balance. Full dark had settled over the ocean and the night was silent, broken only by the soft lapping of the waves against Rainbow Blue’s bow as she cut through the rippled water. Ambient light came from the sky and the muted running lights of the yacht.
“Never get a full holiday, right, sir?” Macintosh asked, grinning.
“The life of a trooper, I suppose,” Cameron responded.
Pug spoke up. “Sergeant, I’ve told Captain Rossiter that you would brief him on the land phase of the operation. His message to meet the Rankin was brief and not informative.”
“Right, General. Wilson and Gunner went ashore a couple days ago. They’ve recce’d the place, gave us a sat com call this afternoon on the sub, and said it looks like there are three people holed up in a remote beachfront cabin about four miles from a small village called Tutuala on the eastern tip of the island. The team’s got an LUP,” he said, referring to a laying up position from which they could observe without being seen, “on a rise about two hundred meters from the cabin. The general said he would coordinate the insertion once we came aboard. When Carlos goes in, Gunner will watch his back and keep the path to the beach clear. The cabin’s about a hundred meters from the spot of water where we’ll beach. If there’s any trouble, or if someone tries to follow Carlos when he leaves, Gunner will top ‘em. If it’s all gone to hell, our boys will come back in the Zodiac. Then it’s just back to the yacht, slip away, and meet up with the Rankin again. They’ll take it from there, sir. That’s about it.”
Pug smiled at the casual way in which Macintosh had described the operation, including the possible necessity of killing Wolff’s companions.
“What about the kit, Sean?” Cameron asked.
“Basics. We’ve got four M-4s, didn’t see a need for the 203s on this insertion. We’ve got the Zod for the run to the beach, two re-breathing kits, masks and flippers if we need ’em. That’s about it.”
“Thank you, Sean. Go below and catch some shut-eye. You’ll need it tomorrow.”
Both Australian SAS operatives quickly dropped below the deck and left Cameron, Pug, and Carlos topside. “What’s the American interest in this, Pug? Was this guy involved in the KLM hijacking?” Cameron asked, turning toward Pug.
“I don’t think so. We’re just looking for information primarily.” Pug nodded toward Castro.“Cameron, let me introduce Carlos Castro.” Pug motioned for Carlos to take a seat on the railing. “As I said, he’s deputy director of our office. We’re essentially a domestic… well, primarily domestic,” he said, waving his arm outward toward the expanse of the ocean, “anti-terrorism task force within the Homeland Security Department. My source for this operation seems to have been spot-on about this guy. If we can convince the man to talk, he knows quite a lot about terrorist weapons acquisition, and, more to the point, about the buyers. He’s been selling to anyone with money for several years, working both sides of the fence and double-crossing most of them along the way. Your Australian SIS intelligence reports show a rapid increase in Indonesian terror cells. This guy just might have something to do with it.”
“We’re glad to help, General. I’ve worked with the whole team, including the ground crew. They’re experienced operators. Good lads,” Cameron said, nodding toward the cabin.
“It would seem so. We didn’t talk much-too noisy on the helicopter-but we flew out together on the supply flight to rendezvous with the USS Abraham Lincoln a couple of hundred miles northwest of Darwin, and we had a brief chat then.” They all sat silently for several moments with Pug taking in his surroundings until Cameron motioned them to stand by while he brought the yacht around to a port tack. When the wind again filled the sail, he continued.
“Quite a firestorm in the States over the KLM shoot-down,” he said.
Pug nodded. “Tough choice for a new president. I’m glad it wasn’t me.”
“Wasn’t easy on the Air Force pilot either, I suppose, or his family.”
“No. He took some damage from the explosion, lost hydraulic control, and nosed in right after the airliner. He had a full military funeral at Arlington,” Pug said, continuing to voice the public story that the pilot’s plane had sustained damage when the commercial airliner exploded.
“Deservedly so,” Cameron offered. “And the president. What a way to go. His first major decision. With no one to hang it on, your press seems content to lay it all on the new president.”
Pug shook his head, looking out over the darkened ocean. “The press is relentless, and they don’t care about collateral damage. Worse than a bomb run, sometimes. But how these lifetime politicians formulate their positions and skewer each other has always bothered me. If they’re a Democrat, then the Republicans are wrong, no matter what they do. If Republican, the reverse. They never seem to consider whether the action was right or not, just which party label they wear on their sleeve.”
“Same thing in Australia, Pug,” Cameron said. They sliced through the water for several moments in silence, the distant whine of a breaching whale the only sound on the air.” “ Was the man right to make the call? The president, I mean,” Cameron asked.
“From my vantage point, yes. From theirs… I’d hate to have to make the call, or worse, to have been the pilot.”
“Amen to that. Give me a terrorist with an AK-47 charging at me and I’ll take him out… or he’ll get me. But I don’t know if I could blow up a hotel full of people to save the city.”
“The enemy has changed color, Cameron. We’ll probably never be able to recognize him again. Carlos has seen the dark side of this business as well as the open, traditional combat role. What do you think, Carlos? Has Cameron got it right?”
Carlos didn’t reply for a few moments, the creaking of the rigging filling the void. “General, the answer to that is above my pay grade,” he replied, “but well within yours. I’ll leave those decisions to flag rank.”
Pug laughed. “Don’t count on it, Mr. Deputy Director. Your new role will take you to heights you never imagined.” Pug raised himself off the railing and stepped toward the entrance to the cabin. “Well, if there’s a bunk below, I think I’ll catch a few hours sleep before final mission planning. See you in the morning, gentlemen.”
“Goodnight, General,” Carlos said. “I think I’ll stay on deck for a bit, get my sea legs back.”
Pug went below, and Carlos and Cameron sat quietly for several minutes. “Care to take the helm, Carlos?”
Carlos hesitated for a moment, then rose and slid in alongside Cameron, who released the wheel and took up
